


Balance

by tunglo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-07 11:39:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19208638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunglo/pseuds/tunglo
Summary: A few Obikin one-shots.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a prompt on the SW kink meme for Obi-Wan and Anakin cuddling.

His head never hurt as bad when Obi-Wan had his arms around him.

He had learned it first as a newly freed youngling, old before his years but not yet too proud to admit to being terrified of the rain lashing against the temple windows, and had it reaffirmed when he was a troubled teenager, the suffocating weight of his own anger darkening the Force around him.

Even now, in the midst of a war without end, Obi-Wan could calm the storm raging inside his skull.

The touch of a hand to his shoulder could dampen the heat of his temper. The press of a palm to his arm could chase away the lingering nightmares, brought on by the noise, and the stress, and the deafening screams in his head of the dead and the dying, their fear so thick in the Force he felt sure he could choke on it.

He dreamed, sometimes, that the brush of Obi-Wan’s fingers against his cheek would be enough to soothe away his own fears.

His inadequacy.

The self-hatred that surged through him at the thought of the mess he had made of his marriage to Padme, and all the ways he was failing in his duty to Ahsoka.

All the ways he had already failed his Master.

“S’cold,” Obi-Wan said in the present, words slurring together with exhaustion and blood loss, and Anakin bit back the manic burst of laughter bubbling in his throat.

He knew, somewhere deep down inside, that he was losing his mind.

Because he was meant to be keeping the worst of Obi-Wan’s pain at bay, his body heat a poor recompense for his unpractised and clumsy attempts at Force healing. He was supposed to be the bolster between Obi-Wan and the cruel realities of world around them - the unforgiving planet they were waiting for rescue from - just as Obi-Wan had attempted to be for him since the day he left Tattooine.

Instead he felt the way Obi-Wan winced when Anakin pulled him closer to his chest. Heard the sharp intake of breath as the movement jostled the war’s latest gift to its reluctant general.

Watched as his own hand reached out to smooth out the furrow in Obi-Wan’s brow, heart thumping in his chest at the softness of the skin beneath his fingertips.

It made him want to be gentle. To be considerate and careful, and whisper pretty words into his Master’s ear as he wrapped himself up in the golden glow of Obi-Wan’s Force aura, so tight he would never be able to fight his way free again.

So perfect, Obi-Wan wouldn’t want him to.

Obi-Wan blinked up at him, gaze overbright and pupils blown wide with the pain, and Anakin had to remember how to breathe.

How to swallow down the forbidden thrill at the soft slide of Obi-Wan’s hair between his fingers.

“I was older than you are now,” Obi-Wan said from nowhere, precise enunciation doing nothing to disguise how vulnerable the attack had left him, “the first time I was this close to another.”

For a moment the jealousy was more than he could bear. Obi-Wan was his Master.

His Balance.

If it weren’t for the war - for the Code - he would tell the whole galaxy Obi-Wan was his everything.

Then Obi-Wan was talking again, voice weak but grip strong where his fingers curled into the front of Anakin’s robes, and the insistent buzzing in his head evened out into something manageable.

Fell silent, no match for the simple honesty emanating from the man whose opinion he most valued.

“Even then I could refuse you nothing.”

This was the point where he was meant to play it cool. Laugh it off and say something about the fast living and the faster speeders Obi-Wan was forever intent on refusing him. Act like this was nothing but business as usual, another too close call, to be forgotten in the morning along with the blood they would wash from their hands.

There was no chaos.

No passion.

No emotion.

“Then don’t refuse me now,” Anakin said, begged, heart wild as he brushed dry lips against Obi-Wan’s.

Sucked in a trembling breath, and then another, nose pressed to the bristles of his Master’s cheek.

“The sun will be up soon,” Obi-Wan pointed out, because with it would come duty, and responsibility, and another day struggling to stay alive. Another day of restraint and denial, and the knowledge that nothing Anakin did was ever going to be good enough.

That, when stacked against the Code and the Council, Obi-Wan’s choice would always be obvious.

He pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s cheek regardless. Another to his jaw, and yet another to the corner of his mouth. Couldn’t get close enough, knew it could never be enough, and kissed with an edge of desperation as the first rays of dawn shone copper in his Master’s dishevelled hair.

On Tattooine they said the only constant was that the rising of the suns was followed by their setting.

That even the fool who wandered too far into the desert would once more know darkness.

“We are not on Tattooine,” Obi-Wan murmured, like the burn of a saber.

Like the rejection he had always known was coming.

Except then there were fingers exploring the swell of his cheekbone. The damp heat of Obi-Wan’s breath on his face, and the glare of the sun in his eyes.

The hum of certainty, of right, through their Force bond, and the bewildered joy tugging his lips into a helpless smile.

“You've no need to hide in the darkness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently re-watched the Prequels and I'm so hung up on these two. It took me right back to my teenaged self, wanting nothing more than a repentant Anakin to tempt devout space monk Obi-Wan into breaking his vow of chastity... I have seen some of The Clone Wars since but, well, I'm gonna cherry pick. Early 2000s me wanted chanting and hair shirts and repression - it's up to 2019 me to deliver! :D


	2. Possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin knows that possession is forbidden - but when has he ever done what he's told, anyway?

Possession was forbidden for Jedi.

That was one of the first tenets he was taught upon arriving at the Temple, Master Windu assessing him through narrowed eyes as though he owned anything beyond the tattered rags he had worn on Tattooine.

As though his Mother had been able to bestow more than a bittersweet kiss to remember her by.

Still, Anakin had bowed his head the way his Mother had taught him, and agreed that he would trust in the Force to provide for him.

To eschew any worldly belonging, other than the eagerly awaited lightsaber, he might fear losing.

Because Fear lead to Anger. Anger to Hate.

Hate to Suffering.

The kind of suffering that made Obi-Wan sob into his pillow, late at night when he thought Anakin couldn’t hear him, and the kind of suffering that made the infants wail in the creche, desperate for someone to show them attention.

“She is fed and she is clean,” Obi-Wan explained when tales of his intervention spread beyond the classrooms and the initiates’ dormitories, “she isn’t in pain, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan’s tone was calm and patient. Gentle as he crouched down to eye level.

It made his own throat feel scratchy and swollen. His chest ache and his fingers clench because Obi-Wan was so kind, and so good, yet he didn’t understand something so obvious.

Something he knew as intimately as the blistering heat of Tattooine’s twin suns.

“The worst pain you can feel comes from here,” he said solemnly, his palm reaching out to press against the coarse material of Obi-Wan’s tabard, “you know that, Master.”

Obi-Wan’s surprise flashed across his features. Was acknowledged with the dip of the man’s head, a simple nod representing the complicated emotions the Code said ought to be dispelled into the Force, rather than be allowed to rule one’s actions.

Nothing more was said to him on the subject, all the same, and the next time the Creche Master caught him with a baby who ought to have been in their crib, his only punishment was an extra standard hour of meditation so he might better reflect on the wisdom of his actions.

It wasn’t forgotten though. Not when he stood before the Council at appraisal, head bowed but fists clenched, the visage of obedience expected by unwanted Masters all the Galaxy over, and not when he finally worked up the courage to follow the Force bond to its source, unable to bear the sadness seeping past Obi-Wan’s shields.

His Master’s soul was beautiful. Golden and gentle, and though Anakin didn’t know how to fix the fraying edges, he wound his own Force presence around the tears, hoping it would be enough to make Obi-Wan’s heart stop hurting.

In the morning, early in spite of breakfast and chanting and an hour of trying and failing to sit still enough for meditation, Obi-Wan asked him how he had done it. Untangled the truth so calmly and so carefully that it was a year or more before he realised it shouldn’t have been so easy.

Another two before it really dawned on him what it was he had accomplished that night.

Because Obi-Wan’s shielding was considered some of the strongest in the Order, and because he had done things to their Force bond the Council claimed to have never encountered before. Made it strong as durasteel yet subtle as the finest shimmersilk, and when he took Qui-Gon’s river stone from Obi-Wan’s hand on his thirteenth birthday it offered up its secrets with nothing more than the lightest brush of the Force against it. Showed him Obi-Wan’s hopes and his fears, and burned hot against his skin with the strength of Obi-Wan’s faith in him as Anakin gave in to the urge to pull his Master into a crushing hug in gratitude.

He and the other Padawan were warned against the dangers of emotion. Of the slippery slope from wanting to having to the grasp of the Dark Side. But his attachment to his Master only made him stronger. The weight of the stone he carried in his pocket only sharpened his focus and enabled the Force to flow through him more easily.

Padawan Olin accused him of having no respect for the Code. Told him primly that Obi-Wan would do well to assign him to another Master before they each did the other further damage.

Collapsed to the floor when Anakin won their less than friendly sparring session without breaking a sweat, bested and beaten and humiliated.

It made him feel other things Jedi were forbidden from encouraging. Pride, and arrogance, and over-confidence. Smug satisfaction at the frustration which furrowed Ferus Olin’s brow as he attempted to accomplish something Anakin scarcely had to think about.

He was powerful. Special.

The Chosen One.

“There is much you can teach me - much you have already taught me,” Obi-Wan told him as he tended to the results of yet another hot headed decision, tender with a forgiveness Anakin knew he didn’t deserve, “but you must accept that you have much to learn still, my Padawan.”

Anakin looked away at that last. Felt the flush rise in his cheeks and wondered if his Master had any idea what the words did to him. How his stomach flipped and his thoughts swirled in confusion, knowing it was wrong but wanting Obi-Wan to make him promises.

To pledge to own and to belong, and not to tire of waiting for Anakin to be old enough to prove the heart truth he was already certain of.

Obi-Wan only smiled at him kindly. Told him that he was not as exacting as Master Yoda, not yet, and that he would be content with a sincere attempt on Anakin’s part to listen to him.

Looked so perfect, hair glinting copper in the afternoon sun, that Anakin didn’t trust himself to answer aloud.

He wasn’t a child, but there was still such a long way to go before he was a man.

The best he could do was retreat to the solitude of the room he had been assigned along the hallway housing a dozen other Padawan. The room he had been forced to accept when the Council deemed him too old and too attached to continue to share joined rooms with his Master.

There he lay on his bed and contemplated his most treasured possession.

Stroked the pad of his thumb over the smooth surface of the stone, and fell into its memory of Obi-Wan doing the same, so young and so anxious, and already so so beautiful.

Anakin wished he could feel the press of Obi-Wan’s fingers. Let his eyes flutter shut and imagined having permission to ghost his own over expanses of his Master’s soft skin. Obi-Wan’s answering touch would be gentle. Reverent. He would shiver prettily under Anakin’s ministrations, so starved of touch that even the lightest of caresses would be overwhelming.

Later - _afterwards_ \- Anakin blinked back the burn of useless tears and clenched the stone tight to him.

Possession was forbidden for Jedi, and that meant both of them were flouting the Code.

He had the stone. Clung to it just the same as he did to anything and everything of his Master, and pledged to protect them all by any means necessary.

And Obi-Wan…

Obi-Wan had his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta get all these terrible sappy scenarios out of my head. My other half tells me that droids would be caring for the babies in the creche but, pah, who would be more likely to insist on manual labour than the outdated Jedi Order? Cleaning and assistance rotas for all!


	3. Dark Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt I found on the kink meme: ' _Post-dark side but pre-Darth Vader, Anakin overpowers Obi-Wan and has his way with him, taunting him all the while about how he's always denied that he wants Anakin. Obi-Wan protests and fights back all the way, even as his body (and mind) respond so powerfully. Bonus for Anakin using the Force to make Obi-Wan more aroused/submissive, and Obi-Wan being painfully aware of it._ '
> 
> Trigger Warnings for non-con, manipulation, Anakin being even worse than usual... This one's not nice, so proceed at your own risk.

The Jedi preached balance. Peace, and serenity, and becoming a conduit for the will of the Force.

The Sith commanded power. Passion, and chaos, and bending the Force to the will of the user.

Anakin was simply determined to get what he wanted.

At three years old it was his control of the Force that spared his Mother from yet another whipping.

At five it persuaded reluctant customers to hand over credits, and at seven it got him time to do as he pleased and extra rations of water.

By nine he was pushing further, concentrating harder, and the first night he spent in their spartan adjoining rooms on Coruscant he told Obi-Wan bluntly that they would always be together.

Obi-Wan smiled, sad but kind, and said that he wasn’t going to abandon him.

Explained, gently, that Force suggestion wouldn’t work on fellow Jedi.

Anakin tested the theory. Started with the younglings in the crèche, concentrating on which should cry and when, and then moved onto the other initiates. He made Bardan Jusik oversleep for a morning meditation session overseen by Master Windu, and he made Ferus Olin trip in the hallway, the other boy’s bloodied lip little comfort for the way his own Master rushed to offer him assistance.

Obi-Wan was his. Anakin had already made that clear to him.

He pledged to try harder. To do better.

To turn his back on tricks and shortcuts, finally, and to earn Obi-Wan’s acceptance with his honest commitment.

He did his best to be good. Went out of his way to be kind.

Made a real effort with meditation, even, occasionally falling into a shallow trance like state during which he imagined himself back under the glare of Tattooine’s suns, standing tall beside his Master as they watched a boy with blond hair playing in the distance.

All of it was for nothing.

Because at sixteen he pressed a trembling promise of a kiss to Obi-Wan’s lips, only for Obi-Wan to flinch away as though burned.

To look at him in startled horror, filthy excuses spilling one after another in his crisp Coruscanti accent.

“You will change your mind,” Anakin pledged, the full weight of his Force control behind it, “why else would the Force have brought us together?”

Obi-Wan put distance between them from that day on. No longer admitted him to his room, relegating him to waiting outside in the corridor, and was scrupulously careful not to touch him. He assigned him to Master Tachi for help with his meditation, the cruelty of the act inspiring Anakin to ever greater shows of temper.

Tachi had been offered everything Anakin longed for and turned it away as though it were nothing.

As though Obi-Wan’s love wasn’t the greatest gift in the Universe.

When she encouraged him to release his frustrations into the Force the rage he focused instead put her in the Halls of Healing. When Ferus confronted him, suspicious and indignant, he called once more upon his anger, the darkness whispering in his ear as he turned their sparring session into an unconditional surrender.

“I am disappointed in you, Padawan,” Obi-Wan said on his return from his latest solo mission, “I know you are better than this.”

Anakin yelled at him in reply. Wrecked the fixtures and fittings of the room they were standing in, the Force merciless as it yielded to his temper.

He cried afterwards, helpless sobs that were muffled by the fabric of Obi-Wan’s robes, the older man’s strong arms wrapped around him.

“We’ll get through this,” Obi-Wan told him, fingers stroking soothingly through his close cropped hair, “you are destined to be a great Jedi, Anakin.”

The problem was that he didn’t want to be a great Jedi. Not as much as he wanted Obi-Wan, not by any stretch, and for every step forward he took two back again. For every tenet of the Code he managed to uphold, there was another he tore to shreds with his need for more than Obi-Wan could give him.

“You want me,” he said at eighteen, not bothering to call upon the Force, “I’d never deny you, Master.”

It was the truth, pure and simple, because he didn’t need anything but his eyes to see the flush staining his Master’s pale skin. The dilation of his pupils and the too tight fit of his leggings.

“This must stop,” was Obi-Wan’s answer, and when he was alone once more Anakin slammed his fist into the wall, rather than sink to his knees and weep pathetically.

If Obi-Wan didn’t want him he would find someone who did. He would show Obi-Wan exactly what he was missing.

He made his mind up when he saw the flicker of interest in Obi-Wan’s eyes as they watched the Holonet. The way his Master stroked at his beard, a sure sign he was impressed by Senator Amidala’s arguments. Her convictions and her strength of character.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have gone through with it if not for the death of his Mother. Obi-Wan’s casual dismissal of the visions which came in the form of nightmares, and the heady rush of power from the Dark Side, obliterating any lingering reservations he may have held on the subject.

Not even the loss of his hand was enough to alter course from his chosen direction. If anything, it strengthened his resolve to move forward. Because though Obi-Wan sat at his bedside and whispered words of comfort, he still turned away from Anakin’s kisses.

He refused to take the step that would make them both happy.

Padme was strong enough not to submit immediately. Fought off his Force suggestion long enough to make clear her true feelings. She gave in eventually, all the same, and Anakin made sure to broadcast every sensation over his and Obi-Wan’s Force bond, the rake of fingernails down his back and the grasping slickness of her body as he consummated his victory.

Obi-Wan’s shields buckled under the onslaught. The pulses of want that wasn’t his own stoked the flames of Anakin’s lust higher. The fantasies Obi-Wan couldn’t hold back, the burst of pleasure at the feel of Obi-Wan’s hand on himself, so intense that Anakin shook with it.

His Master couldn’t meet his eye when he returned to the Temple. Pretended he didn’t know, acted as though he hadn’t seen, until they were trapped in the middle of a war and his elegant fingers were tracing the side of his face.

Trailing down to his shoulder, where his Padawan braid had once hung as physical proof of their connection.

“We can’t. I _can’t_. You have to understand, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was rough. The Negotiator stumbled over his words as he attempted to explain why even here, even now, he wouldn’t quit fighting and just allow Anakin to take care of him.

“I don’t understand. _I_ can’t. I love you and you love me - I know you do.”

Anakin tapped two mechanical fingers to his own temple. Felt like he was breaking apart, like he was about to shatter into a thousand pieces. Screamed his frustration into the silence of what was left of the battlefield, tears spilling down his cheeks even as the Darkness clogged thick in his throat.

Obi-Wan turned his attention to his comm, leaning heavily against a half collapsed wall for support, but Anakin could hear the steady chant through their Force bond.

‘There is no passion, there is serenity.’

It was the beginning of the end. It only made him hate the Code more deeply. Demand Padme’s complete surrender.

Threatened to fracture what was left of his sanity, the creeping tendrils of Darkness now a verdant forest.

It drove him past the point of no return, something he had always known was inevitable, and when he stopped struggling the answer suddenly became obvious.

If he wanted something, he had to reach out and take it.

Obi-Wan looked like he might be sick when they next faced each other. Shed silent tears as he asked him why. Plead with Anakin to tell him that it was only a horridly vivid nightmare.

“They pass in time,” Anakin sneered, the power of the Dark Side coursing through him, “that’s what somebody I once trusted told me.”

He had done things the Jedi way.

He had been good, and he had been kind, and he had begged at Obi-Wan’s feet for something the older man owed him.

“This isn’t you,” Obi-Wan told him, shaky, “turn back to the light. Please. For me, Anakin.”

It was a low blow. It was more than he could deal with.

It had him igniting his lightsaber, because Obi-Wan was determined not to make things easy.

They fought as though every step were choreographed, long years of sparring meaning they each knew the other’s next step as intuitively as their own. They were perfectly matched - the perfect balance the Council had been blinkered to - and it was only when the tip of Obi-Wan’s saber grazed his tunic that Anakin knew it was time to bring an end to both their suffering.

To channel the darkness shrouding the air around him, backing Obi-Wan into a corner, until his saber was almost touching his former Master’s throat and their breath was mixing, all harsh pants of exertion.

“I asked nicely,” Anakin murmured, disarming them both in favour of pinning Obi-Wan in place with the Force, “and I offered myself on a platter.”

He touched his gloved fingers to Obi-Wan’s face. Pressed in closer, so close he could feel the heat of Obi-Wan’s body. The rise and fall of his chest, and the soft push of flesh against his thigh.

Anakin dropped his other hand between them. Traced his fingertips over the clothed outline of his Master, thrilled at the involuntary hitch of breath and the first faint stirrings of interest.

“Don’t do this,” Obi-Wan croaked through dry lips. “Please, not like this.”

Obi-Wan was convincing. Anakin had a blind spot a parsec wide when it came to the man in front of him.

He almost paid for it with his life, releasing Obi-Wan from his Force hold only to have a lightsaber burn through the sleeve of his tunic. His skin burned and blistered. The pain of it was at once so much worse than he remembered, and more exhilarating than anything he had ever experienced.

It honed his senses even as it had him snarling like an animal.

Had him disarming Obi-Wan with an elegant flick of his wrist, and tearing the clothes from his body with nothing but brute strength to aid him.

“If you didn’t want this I wouldn’t be doing it,” Anakin said as he tugged at the fastenings of his own tunics. “You wouldn’t be so eager for it.”

The way things progressed in his Padawan daydreams usually involved Obi-Wan taking the lead. Kissing him, slow and tender, and stroking his beautiful hands down the length of his body. It was sweet, and it was gentle, and afterwards they lay entwined together, sharing whispered promises of forever.

In the here and now he bit at Obi-Wan’s lip hard enough to draw blood. Raised livid bruises along the length of his throat and stroked him ruthlessly. Used the Force to help the older man along, blood thrumming hot at the sight of Obi-Wan straining in his hand.

Obi-Wan whimpered, still waging war between his head and his body. Twisted first this way and then that, confused as to whether he wanted to push into Anakin’s touch, or pull away from it.

He had always wanted to know how Obi-Wan tasted. Now there was nothing to stop him from discovering. Obi-Wan only whined, desperate, as Anakin took him deep, frantic as the salt-sweet of him bloomed across his tongue.

This was how it was supposed to be. Obi-Wan was born to writhe beneath him.

“I’ll take care of you,” Anakin crooned before he smashed their mouths together, so hard their teeth clacked, “stop fighting me, Master.”

The term was inaccurate now. Had been for a long time.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered but the shuddering gasps Obi-Wan couldn’t hold back. The tears glittering in his lashes, and the helpless cry of his name when Anakin crooked fingers inside him, relentlessly pushing Obi-Wan closer and closer.

He could feel Obi-Wan’s body spasming. Feel the anguished ecstasy ricocheting through their Force bond.

Had to drop his head lower, desperate for more even as he moved his hands to the backs of Obi-Wan’s thighs and manhandled him into place, losing himself in the taste and the heat, until he was pushing his fingers back in, tongue flickering alongside and around them.

Obi-Wan was pleading. Begging brokenly for an end to his torment. Anakin responded by swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, and shifting still closer. Pushing Obi-Wan’s legs further apart and watching the tendons straining in his neck, head thrown back as Anakin brought them together.

It was so good. So hot, and so tight, and so perfect, and when Obi-Wan tried to look away Anakin laced their fingers together and demanded the other man’s full attention. Told Obi-Wan this was what he wanted, what he had always wanted, and used the power of the Dark Side behind his Force suggestion so that Obi-Wan was sobbing with the intensity of his need for him.

Just sobbing, helpless, even as Anakin shuddered through his climax and used the grip of his mechanical hand to finally bring Obi-Wan up and over the precipice.

“I told you,” Anakin said as kindly as he could, “we are meant to be together.”

The lack of response didn’t bother him.

With the power flooding through him there was no way he couldn’t get what he wanted.


	4. Vaderwan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of Vaderwan. [500 words, M]

Dreams pass in time.

That was just another of the lies Obi-Wan Kenobi told him.

Pretty sounding falsehoods designed to blind him to the fact he had only traded one form of slavery for another. That his life still wasn’t his own.

That the Jedi would never allow it to be.

If, occasionally, his former master’s voice whispered in his ear if this was how he had imagined freedom, he ignored it.

Obi-Wan’s filthy lips had told him he loved him even as he took a saber to his limbs. Obi-Wan’s false tears hadn’t spared him the flames of Mustafar.

The pleasure his cruel touch sparked when the drugs in his system gave him a few fitful hours of repose only served to make the agony of his waking hours more unbearable.

Because he dreamed, sometimes, that he was healthy and whole. That even the arm he had lost to Dooku was restored, the only pain the sweet tug in his chest when Obi-Wan smiled at him, duplicitous features feigning fond affection.

Other times his body was unmarred but for the mechno-arm and the scars the Clone Wars had given him. Obi-Wan kissed them reverently, the pad of his thumb brushing gently over metal knuckles.

“This isn’t real,” he would tell Obi-Wan then, though the heat of the sun on his skin and the comfort of the soft sheets on their bed tallied with sensations he remembered, “what do you want from me?”

He never got an answer.

Not when he called the Force to him in a chokehold, and not when he sobbed pathetically into his mentor’s arms, though he swore upon each awakening that he would never allow his subconscious to make him so weak again.

He turned to meditation. Determined to triumph over physical exhaustion.

Almost shuddered at the sight of what he had been reduced to, when his actions necessitated the attention of the medi-droids, and gave in to the worst dreams of all.

The gentle touch of Obi-Wan’s hand on his scarred shoulder, and the careful brush of Obi-Wan’s lips against his temple.

The damp heat of Obi-Wan’s breath as he told him yet more lies.

How everything would be all right, and how Obi-Wan would never leave him alone again.

It hurt. All of it hurt. The rasp of beard against his hypersensitive skin and the push and pull of the respirator. The want that washed over him, and the tenderness of the hands that cradled him closer.

His body, what was left of it, attempted to respond. Hurt still more as scar tissue stretched and strained, though Obi-Wan did his best to soothe it with slick strokes of his tongue, branding him from the inside out.

Marking him as his own, taking advantage of his inability to twist away.

Tricking him into believing that he didn’t want to anyway.

“I loved you,” Obi-Wan told him when it was done, solemn and sad and every bit as broken as he had looked all those years ago.

He said nothing in return. There was nothing to be said, surely.

It was just another of the lies Obi-Wan Kenobi had told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per, feel free to prompt me anything! I deleted my Tumblr after their dumb NSFW purge, but you can catch me on Dreamwidth [@tunglo](https://tunglo.dreamwidth.org/).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan angsts his way through life. [T, 1400 words]
> 
> TW for non-graphic mention of non-con and Obi-Wan thinking of Anakin shortly before he hits 18.

He wasn’t yet a senior Padawan when news of the scandal rocked the Temple.

Master Greris was lead down the entrance steps in stun cuffs, the Interplanetary News Network vying for space with the protesters and the tourists and the curious onlookers, all wanting to say they had witnessed the spectacle.

She hid her face from the cameras, the hood of her robe shrouding it in shadow, while Padawan Ras Lera gave candid interviews on the HoloNet.

Gazed straight ahead, chin tilted stubbornly upward, and said that a life within the Jedi Order was tantamount to slavery.

That the practice of tearing children too young to say no from the arms of their mothers’ ought to be recognised as criminal.

The power a Master held over their Padawan as nothing short of odious.

It wasn’t the first time Obi-Wan had heard such things, but it was the first time he had heard them expressed by an insider. By a contemporary, even, because he and Ras had shared the same clan dormitory as younglings.

He had watched on with jealousy unbefitting of a Jedi as Master Greris sat with Ras in the gardens, his new Padawan braid making something twist tight in Obi-Wan’s stomach.

They had sparred together and laughed together and once, not so very long ago, they had both fulfilled a diplomatic mission to Balmorra under the watchful eyes of their respective Masters.

If something was wrong between Ras and Master Greris, surely Ras would have told him.

If she were truly responsible for the awful things Ras was accusing her of, how could Obi-Wan not have noticed?

He tried to work through his guilt in meditation. Revisited his memories, searching for some sign, some clue as to how Ras was suffering. Saw only his envy at the closeness between Master Greris and her Padawan, and his desperate need to prove his skills superior lest Qui-Gon regret his decision to choose him over an initiate more deserving.

It was selfish.

Shameful.

Qui-Gon only listened in silence as Obi-Wan attempted to explain his distraction, his voice barely a whisper as he confessed yet another failing.

“Master Greris’ actions were inexcusable,” Qui-Gon said finally. Kindly. “It is not your fault she abused her position to take advantage of her Padawan.”

Obi-Wan bit at his lip.

Looked over Qui-Gon’s familiar features and felt the familiar clench of heartache in his chest. The heat that rose high in his cheeks and pooled low in his abdomen.

The knowledge that even with everything he now knew, even with the hastily assembled study sessions spent discussing the ramifications and the ethics, he would still trade places with Ras if it only meant Qui-Gon would touch him.

Qui-Gon looked at him speculatively.

Read truths on his face Obi-Wan had hoped never to have to share with him.

“To want is one thing,” Qui-Gon said slowly, expression calm but gaze full of something that looked too much like pity, “but to act is unconscionable.”

\--

They never spoke of it again, though the trial dominated the HoloNet for weeks to come.

Qui-Gon’s words however - they stayed with him always.

Kept him quiet when the ache to confess grew unbearable, and rung in his head, over and over again, when he was left a Knight with a Padawan of his own. A fraud of a Jedi attempting to stifle desolate sobs into his pillow.

They mocked him when he stood before the Council, head bowed as his elders admonished him for some new perceived fault in Anakin’s behaviour, and they choked his throat up tight when Anakin began pushing the boundaries of the Code, testing for what was and wasn’t acceptable.

“You’re a Jedi,” he scolded after finding Anakin and an ambassador’s daughter trading heated kisses in the moonlit garden of the official residence, “you can’t - we don’t - it isn’t done, Anakin!”

Rather than be cowed Anakin only stood taller. Glared at him with an anger he wasn’t supposed to feel and said,

“We’re not allowed attachments. It’s not like I was going to marry her.”

Obi-Wan felt the statement like something physical. Opened his mouth and then closed it, for once unable to find the words to express himself. The rules weren’t for bending.

The Code wasn’t open to interpretation.

In that instant he saw the extent of his failure.

Anakin had looked to him for guidance. It was his training which had lead to this. His flaws and his shortcomings - the sickness inside his heart, buried down deep where it was allowed to continue festering - had robbed Anakin of his right to be at peace with his place in the Order.

“You might think it but I’m not stupid, Master.”

He looked up at his Padawan. Realised with a start that he had been looking up for some time now. Anakin was no longer a child.

Anakin wasn’t going to need him for much longer.

“I’m sorry,” he managed then, nausea roiling in his stomach, and he all but fled the room for the safety of his own assigned quarters.

The next day he was in control once more. His expression was neutral and his manner serene. Anakin sat to his left at table, just like a thousand other mornings, and deferred to him during their talks, with the very bare minimum of huffing and eye rolling.

In spite of the familiarity something was different.

Everything was altered.

Because now Obi-Wan had seen he was powerless to look away again.

He watched hungrily, desperately, soaking in the details of the man before him. The strength in his arms and the soft curve of his smile. The tan of his skin and the brilliant blue of his eyes. The skill he demonstrated in his movements, and the swing of his Padawan braid when they sparred together.

It ought to have brought him to his senses. Just the sight of it ought to have put an end to the madness.

Instead he touched himself to the memory of Anakin flushed and sweating, grinning wide at him as they powered down their training sabers. Smiling at him with such total trust Obi-Wan was sick afterwards, trembling and lightheaded as he met his reflection in the ‘fresher mirror.

Qui-Gon had used his dying breath to entrust Anakin to his care. Anakin’s mother had given up her only son to the promise the Jedi would provide a better life for him.

He didn’t dare to imagine what punishment either would deem fitting.

Obi-Wan pledged to try harder. To be stronger.

Meditated for hours at a time, pleading with the Force to take this filthy wanting from him.

It didn’t work. Nothing made a difference.

When he was stern and distant Anakin reacted in kind. Grew angry and frustrated, and screamed things they both knew he didn’t truly mean. When he was weak - too soft and too close - Anakin returned the sentiment. Sat so near their thighs brushed against each other, and gazed at him through lowered lashes, the look on his face enough for Obi-Wan to twist it and sully it, and dream of it in his narrow bunk at night, his perverted mind claiming it as evidence of Anakin’s reciprocation.

He redoubled his efforts. Retreated into the mask of the perfect Jedi he had created for himself.

Broke down at Anakin’s bedside in the aftermath of Geonosis, alternating between whispering lovesick truths and begging for forgiveness.

And so it continued, a ceaseless cycle of restraint and surrender. Denial and capitulation.

He punished himself by covering for Anakin’s indiscretion. Tormented himself with thoughts of Anakin and Padme together.

Hated himself as much for the sharp sting of jealousy each and every time her name was mentioned, as the hopeless elation he felt whenever Anakin gave him his full attention.

Even Anakin’s anger was better than being an afterthought.

His hatred better than his indifference.

\--

Obi-Wan made to cross that line from his journal, ashamed once more of his failings, but stilled his hand at the last moment. This was to be his legacy. His gift to posterity.

He thought of Qui-Gon’s powerful presence and Anakin’s beautiful smile.

The part he had played in the destruction of both of them.

It wasn’t intentions, good or bad, that mattered, he wrote for Luke’s benefit.

It was how one’s actions impacted upon others.


End file.
